K-911
by StBridget
Summary: When Steve and Danny answer a domestic disturbance, they find a beaten dog instead of a person. Danny rushes to save the dog's life. New series! Bullet the dog! Will run parallel to and crossover with Ninja the cat. Friendship, no slash.
1. Domestic Disturbance

Hawaii Five-0 is property of CBS and its creators

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Steve and Danny had just finished interviewing a witness when they heard the disturbance next door. "I'm going to kill you, you piece of shit! Take that! That'll show you!"

Without needing to speak, Danny and Steve's hands slid to their guns, and they cautiously approached the house. The screaming was still going on, and they could hear the sounds of flesh hitting flesh. "I'll teach you not to disobey me! I'll beat it into you!"

"Five-0, put your hands up!" Steve and Danny burst into the house just as a gunshot rang out, and a scream of pain filled the air.

The man ignored them, intent on kicking the figure in front of him. Looking at it, Danny realized it wasn't the body of a woman as he expected. "Shit, Steve, it's a dog."

Steve didn't spare a glance, gun pointed at the man. "Drop the weapon and put your hands up."

The man didn't stop kicking the poor animal. "You won't disobey me again! I'll fix you!"

Danny leveled his gun at the man as well. "Leave the dog alone or I'll shoot you," Danny said, livid, finger tightening on the trigger.

"Danny, don't," Steve cautioned. He didn't miss the irony of him telling Danny to hold his temper.

"He hurt a dog, Steve. I'm not going to let him get away with that."

"He won't, Danny. Take it easy."

The man was still waving the gun around and screaming at the dog. "For the last time, drop the gun and put your hands up," Steve ordered.

The man waved the gun towards them. "You can't tell me what to do!" He aimed it shakily at the two men. "I'll shoot you, you sons of bitches!"

Danny aimed for the man's heart, but Steve beat him to it, shooting the man in the shoulder. "Don't, Danny. This piece of shit isn't worth the trouble you'll get into for killing him."

Danny's jaw was clenched. "He shot a dog."

"I know," Steve said, cuffing the guy. "And he'll pay. Let me take care of it. You look after the dog."

That broke through Danny's rage. Holstering his gun, he approached the whimpering figure on the floor. It was a German Shepherd, panting laboriously and bleeding from a wound in his side. "Shit, I have to get him to a vet!"

"Go," Steve said. "I'll call for backup and take care of this scumbag."

Danny approached the dog cautiously. "Hey, boy, it's okay, I'm not going to hurt you." The dog whimpered and tried to wag it's tail, implicitly knowing Danny was there to help him. Danny petted the dog gently. "There, there, we'll get you fixed up. I'm just going to lift you, okay? I'll try not to hurt you too much." Gingerly, he lifted the dog. Close up, he could tell the dog was emaciated, which tugged at Danny's heart, even though it made his job easier. "Okay, boy, we're going to take care of you." The dog weakly lifted it's head to try and tentatively licked Danny.

Danny carefully stowed the dog in the back seat of his car, for once not caring about the blood on the seats. He only knew one vet, the one Steve used for his cat, Ninja, and he punched in their number as he got behind the wheel. "Hi, this is Detective Danny Williams. I have a dog from a crime scene. He's been shot and beaten and needs immediate medical attention."

"Okay, Detective Williams, bring him in. We'll be waiting for you."

Danny careened into the vet and parked haphazardly, halfway out of the car before the engine was even off. He opened the back door. The dog seemed to be having even more difficulty than before breathing, and his eyes were glazing over. "It's okay, boy, we're here, you're going to be okay." To his ears, Danny sounded more like he was begging than stating a fact.

He carried the dog inside the vet's office and was immediately met by a tech who carefully took the dog from him and headed towards the back. Danny started to follow but was stopped by the receptionist. "I'm sorry, sir, but you can't go back there."

"But, I have to! I have to know how he's doing!"

"Don't worry, he's in good hands. The doctor will come out in a little while and let you know how he's doing. Is he your dog?"

Danny took a deep breath, trying to calm down. He realized he was shaking from the adrenalin. "No, we found him at a crime scene. His owner was beating him, and then he shot him." His hands clenched at the memory. "I'll kill the fucker."

"So will HPD be paying for treatment, then?"

Danny took another deep breath, then another, then realized it wasn't working and gave up. "No," he answered the receptionist. "No, I'll pay. Whatever it takes. I just want the dog to be alright."

"We'll do our best," she assured him. "Now I just need you to fill out some paperwork."

Danny took the forms. He filled out the sex and breed and left a question mark for age. He hesitated on "owner's name". "Danny Williams," he wrote. He paused again at "pet's name," then carefully wrote "Bullet". Danny was sure Steve would have something to say about getting attached and naming the dog—Danny would have plenty to say if Steve were the one doing it—but he didn't care. Danny could freely admit that he had every intention of keeping the dog. He'd saved him, and if he wanted to claim it as his, no one could stop him. If the dog survived. No, he wasn't going to think about that. The dog _would_ survive. He had to.

Danny wasn't sure how long he sat there, head in his hands, trying to think positively, trying to convince himself the dog would be okay, before a technician came into the waiting area. "Detective Williams?"

He looked up. "Yes?"

"Follow me."

He followed the tech into an exam room. He looked around, expecting to see the dog, but the room was empty. "Where's Bullet?" He asked, not even realizing he'd used the name he'd given the dog on the spur of the moment.

"Dr. Ordahl will be right in to speak to you," the tech said, avoiding the question.

That led to another few anxious minutes of waiting, until an older man wearing the obligatory white coat with a stethoscope draped around his neck came in. "Detective Williams? I'm Dr. Ordahl."

Danny shook the doctor's hand. "How is he, doc?"

"I won't sugar coat it. The dog's in bad shape. He's in surgery to remove the bullet, but it punctured a lung, and he's lost a lot of blood. Plus, he has several cracked ribs. Add to that he's severally malnourished and dehydrated. It doesn't look good."

The doctor's words were like a punch to the gut. "No, he has to be okay. He has to!"

"We'll do the best we can. Now, I suggest you go home. It'll be a while yet before there's any news. We'll call you, I promise."

Danny didn't want to go; he wanted to stay there until Bullet (he couldn't help thinking of him that way, thinking of Bullet as his) was out of surgery, but he knew he really didn't have a choice. With a heavy heart, Danny reluctantly left the vet's office and went home.

When Steve found him several hours later, Danny was sitting on the couch in his place, head once again in his hands, still trying to think positive, but losing hope with every minute that went by and the vet still hadn't called.

"Hey," Steve said.

"Please tell me the asshole bled out," Danny said, not looking up.

Steve sat down beside him. "No such luck. I just winged him. Doctor said he'll make a full recovery."

Danny pounded the couch in frustration. "It isn't fair. Bullet's fighting for his life, and the motherfucker that did this to him walks away with just a scratch. I should have killed him when I had the chance."

"No, you shouldn't have. Asshole wasn't worth the bullet. How's the dog."

"I don't know. Bullet was in surgery when I left. The vet said he'd call when he had news, but it didn't look good."

"Bullet, huh? Naming him now?"

"I can name him if I want. He's my dog."

"Danny," Steve put his hand on Danny's shoulder. "He's not your dog."

Danny jerked away. "Yes, he is! I saved him, I'm going to keep him! You are not letting him go back to that fucker!"

"No, Danny, nobody said that," Steve soothed. "It's just—you need to think this out."

"I have thought it out," Danny said stubbornly. "I'm keeping him, Steve. That's final."

Steve tried again to talk him out of it. "You should really think about contacting a rescue."

Danny wasn't having any of it. "No! That poor dog has been through too much already! I'm not turning him over to strangers!"

"Okay, okay," Steve said, once again putting a hand on Danny's shoulder, trying to soothe him. "Just calm down."

Danny's shoulders slumped. "I'm sorry, it just makes me so angry. That poor dog, lying there, broken and bloody while that asshole beat the shit out of him for no reason. He shot him, Steve! The motherfucker shot a poor, innocent dog! And now they don't even know if he's going to make it! Bullet doesn't deserve that, Steve! He deserves a good home, with someone who loves him, and now I don't even know if he's ever going to get that chance!" Danny broke down, sobbing.

Steve put his arms around his friend and drew him to his chest, letting him cry, not saying anything, rubbing soothing circles on his back. Danny was just starting to calm down when the phone rang. It was sitting on the coffee table, so Steve picked it up. "It's the vet, Danny."

Danny took a deep breath, trying to get himself under control before answering the phone. "Detective Williams."

He listened for a minute. Steve watched his face, looking for some sign either way, but he couldn't tell anything from Danny's face. "Okay, thanks for telling me." He hung up and took a shaky breath.

"Well?" Steve asked.

Tears filled Danny's eyes again, and Steve feared the worst. "He made it through the surgery. They got the bullet out and repaired the damage the best they could. His vitals are stable. They think he's going to make it." Danny sobbed with relief this time. "They think he's going to make it, Steve!"

Steve hugged Danny to him again. "That's great, Danny, that's great."

At last, Danny pulled out of the embrace and pulled himself together. "Yeah, yeah it is."

"So," Steve said. "Guess tomorrow we'd better go get everything you need for when Bullet comes home."

Danny beamed. "Sounds good to me."

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A/N Thanks everyone who weighed in on Danny's dog! The big dog people won, though I appreciate everyone's suggestions. The dog being a rescue was never in question-I'm a big rescue fan. I tend to think in breeds because that's how I was raised, but there's many purebreds who need a good home. Besides, I couldn't come up with a good picture of how I wanted a mutt to look. :) I seriously considered jrallfan's suggestion of a retired police or military dog, but then Danny wouldn't get to take him through obedience training, and I think that would be hysterical. So I went with a guest's suggestion of a dog from a crime scene, but I wanted to make it different from the dog that made a brief appearance on the show. So, I ended up with a domestic disturbance with a dog, every bit as despicable as beating a person, as far as I'm concerned.

Yes, there will be more Bullet the dog stories, and yes, he and Ninja will meet. :) The icon will be my other dog instead of a generic German Shepherd, because I want to. So there. :)


	2. Homecoming

True to his word, Steve went shopping with Danny the next day to prepare for Bullet's homecoming. Not that Steve was much help; his tastes ran to the functional, and Danny had actually picked out most of the stuff for his cat, Ninja. Once again, Danny took the lead. He picked out a large crate, a large exercise pen with lid, two huge, fluffy dog beds (one for the living room and one for the bedroom, though Steve gave it about a week before Bullet was sleeping on Danny's bed, especially when the next item Danny loaded into the cart was a set of steps to help Bullet get up on the bed), dog dishes decorated with paw prints, and enough toys for a platoon of dogs. Left to his own devices, Danny probably would have gotten one of everything, but Steve managed to keep him to the "essentials": two kinds of bones, a tennis ball, a tug toy, a Kong, and an army of squeaky toys (Steve lost the battle on that one—he tried to get Danny to settle on one or two, but Danny kept throwing one squeaky after another into the cart). Danny did stick to a plain collar and leash (he flatly refused Hawaiian print), but did get a harness in a bone print (he vetoed camouflage). Steve did come in handy picking out the food; Danny may tend towards junk food himself, but he was determined Bullet would have the best. Danny's favorite purchase was the bone-shaped tag with "Bullet" and Danny's phone number, proof that Bullet was really his.

Now all Danny had to do was wait. The vet was keeping Bullet for a few days to make sure he was strong enough, and Danny was on pins and needles waiting to be told he could bring Bullet home. Finally, the call came. Danny dropped what he was doing and rushed out the door, not caring that he was at work. They didn't have any active cases, so Steve just smiled indulgently at Danny's back and let him go.

Danny burst into the vet's office. "I'm here to pick up Bullet," he told the receptionist breathlessly.

She smiled at him, picked up the phone, and spoke into it. "He'll be right up," she said to Danny. "In the meantime, let's get you checked out."

Danny paid the bill, not even flinching at the cost, and even dropped a fifty into the donation jar for the local shelter to show his gratitude. He collected Bullet's meds (enough to fill a pharmacy between the pain pills and the antibiotics and the vitamins), and read over the discharge instructions. Then he took a seat and fidgeted while he waited for them to bring Bullet out.

At last the tech came through the door, Bullet following gingerly behind him. Danny got down on his knees and gave the dog a big hug. "Hey, boy, how you doing? I was worried about you. What do you say—are you ready to go home?" Bullet licked Danny's face and wagged his tail in agreement.

Danny carefully lifted Bullet in his arms, even though the tech said he was perfectly able to walk. Danny didn't care—he fully intended to wait on Bullet hand and foot until he was fully healed, although Danny suspected Steve would have some choice words to say about that. Not that Steve had room to talk—he spoiled his cat rotten. He settled Bullet on the blanket he'd gotten to keep in his car especially for the dog, and slowly drove home, mindful of his precious cargo.

Once home, Danny once again picked Bullet up and carried him into his house, settling him on his dog bed in the living room and carefully tucking another blanket around him. "There you go, boy, that'll make you nice and comfortable."

Danny settled onto his couch with a beer to watch a game. Bullet was content on his bed for a while, then got up and stood in front of Danny, wagging his tail and looking up at Danny hopefully. "You want up, boy? Here you go." Danny lifted Bullet onto the couch, and Bullet lay down next to him, head on Danny's lap. Danny continued to watch the game, petting Bullet occasionally, until it was time for bed. "Okay, boy, bedtime. What do you say—think you can make it on your own?" Bullet wagged his tail in response, so Danny led the way into the bedroom.

Once there, Bullet went immediately to his bed while Danny settled under the covers in his own bed. He was almost asleep when he heard Bullet laboriously climbing the steps up to the bed. He lay down next to Danny, resting his head on Danny's chest. Danny put an arm around him. "Hey, there. You going to sleep with me tonight?" Another tail wag in response. "Sounds good to me. Let's get some sleep. How does that sound?"

As Danny and the dog both drifted off to sleep, Danny thought Steve was wrong. It hadn't taken Bullet a week to sleep with him at all.


End file.
